Lost Times
by JustClem
Summary: The quiet heroine Polaroid has never met her match until she meets the destructive vigilante known as Blue Death. She knows she's her foe, and they're in the midst of a great battle, but she can't help but wonder what the blue vigilantee's lips would feel like against her own.


They call her Polaroid because of the way her power causes her to release a yellow, sunset-like glow - the kind you usually see in burnt polaroid pictures. And she doesn't meet her match until she faces what some call Butterfly of Mischief, what others call Blue Death, and what she _personally_ calls infuriating.

Max hits the brick wall. A wave of sorts explode from the impact, and she's surprised to find that the building didn't collapse on her. She left cracks on it, though.

Dust hovers around her, and it causes her to cough. She winces from the cough. Moving _hurts._

"I thought you were supposed to be untouchable," a taunting voice rings out, followed shortly by a chuckle. "Maybe those Seattle bitches are blowing things out of proportions. They _do _get pretty dramatic, sometimes. You seem pretty touchable to me, Maxaroni."

"How?" she chokes out, refusing to stand up even when she can. "How do you know me?"

She's had this dance before, so many times, without the blue stranger in front of her noticing. Nothing Max did works. She refused to tell Max anything, not even a hint, and that's worth noting, considering what her powers are.

"How could I _not_ know you is the real question, dear."

The cheshire grin, crooked and vile, takes Max's breath away. She's never seen anyone like her, has never experienced such raw, destructive power that puts Max's supposed super strength to shame. It stirs something in Max. Something hot and hungry. Something dizzying her and reeling her and making her want to do things she's never thought of doing before. Something she'll never admit is attraction.

Max's opponent's blue and black armour stands out in the dull colors of the Arcadia streets, the intricate pattern - not quite a tattoo, not quite _not_ a tattoo - enfolding her left arm even more so. She is a wild card, Max thinks. An indestructible wild card with electrical powers, super speed, super strength, super jump, super _everything_.

Compared to her, Max may as well be your average hipster student studying in an art school.

"Tell me who you are," Max croaks out, one eye fluttering closed when a red line trails down to it. "Tell me how you know these things."

The knightess may not remember, but it matters not. Max has heard her, gushing cynically about how cool her parents are for allowing her play the hero gig, laughing that _of course your name is Polaroid, fuckin' of course, Maxie_, and overall giving her this look that she knows more about Max than anyone, and she knows it too, and she's proud of it, and she loves how much it drives Max crazy.

She's been at this for hours. It's only been 15 minutes, but it's been hours.

Could her foe have the same powers as Max? That would explain- no. There's never been two people who share the same exact abilities ever recorded in history. It's too rare a phenomenon.

And even if she did have similar powers, Max would have felt it. Max would've _known._

"You very well know who I am, Caulfield," she chuckles ruefully, hooded blue eyes glowing as bluer electricity sparks alive, bathing her in halos and mist. "You simply refuse to accept it."

She raises her intricately-design arm, aims it at Max, and Max hurries to raise her own arm, aiming it forward and beyond.

Max rewinds as the strike of lighting touches the tip of her nose.

Max stops rewinding to meet Chloe, up in the air, balls of lightning in her palms as she descends. Max goes out of her way to dodge it; jumping clumsily away in an attempt to dodge it completely, tripping only to jolt at the shock wave of the impact - the impact that now meets the ground and kisses a dent in it instead of the wall and her chest.

Max winces at how big of a hole she leaves behind. That had hurt.

The knightess looks at her, not seeming to notice that she'd made such a stupid mistake as tripping on your own feet.

"No one has ever been able to do that before," she says, the blue light in her eyes dimming into nothingness, leaving her with a gentler look. She gives a soft frown that makes her look young and human. "Just what _are _your powers?" she questions. "Telepathy? Super speed?"

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you," Max laughs, laughing again when she feels something warm and metallic dripping down her nose. Great. She's pushed herself to the brink, and hasn't even gotten any answers. Not even a name. "I don't even want to fight you."

"The feeling's not mutual, my dear."

But _why?_ Max wants to scream. What is her game? Is it revenge? But for whom? Max hasn't done anything to warrant _this _special attention. She's not killed anyone, and never plans to.

Max blinks and decides to try something. "Is this a way to prove your worth? That you're stronger than me? That you _are_ strong?" Max grits her teeth and spits, "Fine! I admit it! You beat me! My powers are nothing compared to yours! Is that it?! Does that satisfy-"

She hurks when her breath is cut off. Sharp nails dig into her neck all-too-deeply. Hot, harsh breaths tickle her cheeks. Max glares at those infuriatingly beautiful eyes.

"Nothing satisfies me," she seethes, the venom in her voice reminding Max of a snake and a tigress at once. "Nothing at all. Nothing except maybe…" Something in her softens, and that same something cracks and hides itself. "Tell me, Maxipad; why are you here?"

Because of mysterious disappearances. Mysterious disappearances of young girls that are around her age. Reports of strange, abnormal activities. Visions of a helpless girl, crying and begging, soaked and in the middle of a storm.

But Max isn't going to tell _her_ that.

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know?"

The claws at her neck thrust and tighten. "I hella hate repeating myself." It's tight. Too tight. Max can't breathe. Black spots dance around her. "You can't just come back and expect things to be okay. It's not fair." There's something about her voice. Something about the trembles it tries to hide, and the vehemence of it. "I needed you. So, _so_ much. It's been five years. Five _goddamn_ years, and not a _single_ fucking text."

Max can barely make sense of it all. "Please-" she croaks, and chokes. "Stop."

"All I wanted was to hear your voice again." The voice is soft and shattered and Max stops breathing because of it. "Is that too much to ask? Just… to know that my best friend still cares."

The hands loosen. Max would've fallen if not for those same hands reaching for her waist, steadying her. An anchor.

"God," she breathes. "You're so pretty."

And then a pair of lips press against hers, dragging her forward and back, twisting and reeling her mind like a toy. Max tries to weakly break away, but the blue dragon is strong, and she is exhausted.

"Stop fighting me." Max squirms, and her breath hitches when her back meets the wall that was once broken. Those strong, commanding arms explore, unlayering her without ripping away her clothing, bit by bit, taking its leisure-y time, demanding her to make noises she didn't know she could make. "I forgot how pretty you were, Maxie. You're even more fun to tease than I thought."

Max tries to answer, but all that comes out of her mouth is breathy, hot gasps.

Suddenly they stop, and suddenly the body above her disappears. Suddenly Max is cold and alone.

"You confuse me, Max. You really do."

The knightess stands afar, her blue hue dimmed by the orange glow of the sunset. There's something about her, something about how the sunset rays wither away the blue in her locks, that stops Max in her tracks. But Max doesn't stop for very long. With unfounded bravery, Max walks until she's standing in front of her. She's hiding her face, Max realises, by tilting her head down and aside. With small, soft hands, Max reaches for her cheeks, and guides her to meet Max's eyes.

And that's when she knows.

"Chloe?"

Chloe's eyes widen. "You remember."

A bitter smile crosses Max's cheeks. "Chloe…"

It's Max who reaches out for the kiss this time, and it's Chloe who stands still.

Max cries as she kisses her.

The kiss reminds her of who they were. It's childhood innocence. It's sweetness, gentleness, happiness, warmth, and trust. It's slow, and it's not as intense as before, but Max hardly cares.

And _yeah_, maybe she has a lot to make up for, and things won't be easy, and they won't go back to the way they once were so quickly, if at all, but so long as Max is here, with her, able to touch her like this, maybe it'll all be okay.

They're Max and Chloe, after all. They'll figure it out.


End file.
